


Dangerous Things

by Ponderosa



Category: Once Upon a Time in Mexico (2003)
Genre: Canon Character of Color, F/M, Female Character In Command, Female Character of Color, Gun Kink, Racist Language, latina character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-11-17
Updated: 2007-11-17
Packaged: 2017-10-13 13:52:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/138086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ponderosa/pseuds/Ponderosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ajedrez prefers being on top. Much to her surprise, Sands never complains when she holds a gun beneath his chin and pushes him down onto her bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dangerous Things

**Author's Note:**

> Contains racially insensitive douchebag language from Agent Sands.

Ajedrez prefers being on top. Much to her surprise, Sands never complains when she holds a gun beneath his chin and pushes him down onto her bed.

The mattress is less accommodating than Sands; rusty springs shriek and squeal as Ajedrez presses a knee beside his and crawls right up to straddle his bony hips. He looks ridiculous with an erection tenting his salmon pink shorts--completely fucking ridiculous--and still Ajedrez wants this so much she can already feel the wetness gathering between her legs. She's gone crazy.

Sands thumps the bed with a fist. “Someone in here needs to invest in a can of WD-40." As shifty as his name, he looks up at her, and the glance edges towards a stare before his eyes flicker this way and that before they settle on the contours of her stomach.

Interesting for a man not to look to her breasts first, but to her belly. “Perhaps a muzzle would be more useful,” she says, lifting her gun to aim at his face. She holds it right between his eyes. The grip warms in her palm. He doesn’t flinch. He shifts his gaze back up and doesn’t even blink. Asshole.

“That’s a mighty big thing you got there,” he says. He looks past the weapon and into Ajedrez's eyes. Her blood runs a little hotter when he blinks first.

“I’m a big girl,” she says, and puts the gun to his mouth. His lips twist into a quick twitch of a smile before his tongue snakes out to run wide along the underside of the heavy black barrel.

“That’s not how it goes, sweet cakes,” he says, slender hands gone busy as he fumbles to peel back the fly of his shorts. “You’re supposed to say…” He clears his throat, raises the register of his voice, and affects a terrible accent: “No, _mi papi_ , it’s _noh-thing_ compared to size of your _biig fat priick_.”

“Oh, shut up, you big fat prick,” Ajedrez hisses, as the head of Sands’s cock presses hot and ready between her thighs. Big? No. Fat? No. Everything she wants right now? Well, she can’t bite back a soft moan as she drags the tip of her gun up to his temple and he slicks himself wet along her folds.

He loses his breath too, forgetting that he's an insufferable American for a moment and silent as death as he bites his lip and lifts his hips to slip inside her. The heat pushing into her makes her arms quiver, and she puts the gun aside to lean over him. She smooths her hand over his forehead, his dark hair silken under her palm. His head rolls back with the firm press of her fingers, and an expression of bliss staggers across his features. It is now, when she settles on him with her thighs flat against his, that she can count one of two moments that she ever sees a sincere look on his face.

Yet it’s gone so quickly that Ajedrez has to struggle to remember it, and she closes her eyes as she rolls her hips. Her breasts hang heavy, brushing against his smooth chest. He doesn't really touch her and she doesn't know where he looks now. She only really cares about fucking herself at the hard pace she likes and grinding when his dick bottoms out again and again and still doesn't fill her enough.

There’s a place deep inside her where she wonders what sort of man Agent Sands would be if he wasn’t as blind, stupid, and fucked-up as the country cutting his checks. It’s the same place that wonders if she’s doing the right thing by helping her father. Ajedrez bares her teeth. She'll never have answers.

“You worthless five-minute fuck,” she says, when his hands go to her sides and he moves to meet her. The mattress howls her frustration as Sands’s breathing changes to soft, rapid grunts. Ajedrez opens her eyes in time to see his face twist as he comes.

Even that comical look, the ridiculous scrunched up nose and yawning mouth that a man would laugh to see on a woman, is somehow forgiven on Sands’s face, and Ajedrez bites her lip as she watches it melt away. She buries her face in the shadow of his neck while the soft curve of his slack mouth remains, and she rubs against him. The sweat of their bodies mingles, and she can smell his semen and her juices in the air moving hot between them. Sands clears his throat.

“Speak a word and I shoot off your balls,” she says. The heel of her hand presses deep into the thin blanket on the bed, sticking to it like sandpaper, but her fingers find the handle of her pistol.

He surprises her by letting the unspoken words die. He surprises her again by running the tips of his fingers along her spine, and once more when he nudges her chin with his and finds his way to her mouth. She has never kissed Sands before and isn't sure she wants it any more than she wants the electric tingle spreading along her back. Cigarette smoke purrs in his breath as she opens her mouth to his. His tongue is hot with the spice of jalapeños. He tastes dangerous, like the hot sizzle of bullets. It's good, she decides, and she moans as his tongue slides around her mouth.

Ajedrez feels his softening cock slipping out of her, but the warmth at her clit continues to build. She rocks herself against his body, and it’s with his lips on hers and his hands roaming her back that she shudders and comes.

Sands tries to kiss her throat, but she climbs off of him and lays naked near the pillows. “Get out of here,” she rasps. The smoke on his breath feels like it's moved into her lungs. She rests her gun on her stomach. The metal is bodywarm and heavy.

“I need a change of clothes,” he says, forcing himself to his feet. He stands bandy-legged, like some wannabe _pistolero_. “Where the fuck is my other pair of sunglasses?”

“I threw your things in the corner, _papi_.”

The flush on Ajedrez's cheeks and breasts fade as Sands worms into a pair of jeans that are three shades too light and two sizes too small. The pants are so tight she can see the outline of the tiny gun he hides near his balls. Foolishly, she opens her mouth and tells him so. Sands smirks and straps a leather buttpack around his waist, adjusting it to cover his crotch. She flips him the bird and curls on her side, refusing to watch him stroll out the door to go play his games.

Long after he’s gone, Ajedrez still feels his fingers sweeping across her back like ghostly kisses, and she swallows the knowledge that, in a few weeks, she’s going to have to change the lock.

Fallen to the bed beside her, the metal of her gun has cooled.


End file.
